


Son of a Bitch

by Myarna



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Gen, Oneshot, Sherlock's only there through texts, but he's still involved okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 16:04:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myarna/pseuds/Myarna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean discovers the news of his friend, Sherlock Holmes' death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Son of a Bitch

     “Dude, they have British TV here.” Dean grinned, flopping down on the couch, beer in hand.   
They’d just finished a hunt, and it was almost 3 in the morning, but Sam wanted to do a little more digging before they slept. Dean just wanted to check out the TV.   
Sam looked up briefly from his laptop, but his brother’s channel surfing didn’t interest him for long. Dean rolled his eyes and started flicking through. He watched some comedy shows on a channel called ‘Dave’ while sipping his beer for a while, but he got bored pretty quickly.   
     “British TV’s kinda boring.” He muttered to himself as he randomly punched one of the numbers on the smooth remote.   
The screen changed to show two presenters on the BBC News. The clock in the corner of the screen read ‘08:55’.   
     _“-the world’s only consulting detective.”  
_ Dean started to pay attention.   
     “Hey Sammy, something’s going down in the UK.” Dean teased, not managing to tear a reaction from Sam.   
     _“-Sherlock Holmes was a fake.”_ The male presenter continued.   
Dean scoffed. Yeah right, if Sherlock was a fake then he wasn’t a hunter.   
     _“And tragically, that seems to have led to his death.”_  
Dean’s blood ran cold.   
The screen switched to a young female news reporter andin giant white capital letters, the words ‘SHERLOCK HOLMES MYSTERY FALL’ were planted firmly at the bottom of the screen.   
She went on to talk about how Sherlock Holmes had either jumped or fell to his death when a picture of the consulting detective in question filled the screen.   
She began talking about James Moriarty as the camera switched back to her. She spat out lies. They had to be. She was saying that John Watson’s blog was a work of fiction and that Moriarty was an actor called Richard Brook.   
     “Son of a bitch.” Dean murmured into his beer.  
The camera switched back to the two in the studio, and the female newsreader informed the audience that JLS, whoever the hell they were, would be joining them. Dean turned off the TV, disgusted.  
Dean had already retrieved his cell phone.   
**_You’re on the British news, Sherlock. How’d you get away with this one?  
-D.W._** _  
_He sent the text, unsure what the hell to think. He almost choked when less than a minute later, his cell phone pinged.  
 ** _Do not contact John. I am alive, possible demon presence in a reporter named Kitty. Please, come.  
-S.H._**  
     “Son of a bitch.” Dean repeated. _  
**How big is it on the scale of apocalyptic disasters?**   
_ Dean tapped out the reply and attempted to work through how in God’s name Sherlock had managed to fool an entire country.   
     “Only Sherlock.” Dean muttered to himself.  
 ** _Not even on the scale. I’ll put the kettle on._  
 _-S.H._** _  
_Dean broke out in a grin.  
     “Hey, Sammy!” He called.   
     “Dean, for the last time I don’t care about British TV.”   
     “How about a break?” Dean continued, pretending he hadn’t heard Sam.  
     “What?” Sam activated bitchface #427.  
     “To London, I’ve got a friend there.”  
     “What the hell do you mean London-Dean, what friend? Literally all of your friends are dead.” Sam slammed the lid of his laptop shut.  
     “C'mon, you remember Sherlock Holmes and John Watson!” Dean insisted, gulping down the last dregs of his beer.   
     “The shape-shifter case in Baskerville last year?” Sam asked, pinching his nose and sitting down next to Dean with a sigh.   
     “Yeah! Don't you want a nice trip to England, Sammy?” Dean poked him in the side.   
     “Even if we do go,” Sam held up his index finger “which doesn't mean we will, but if we did, how would be afford flights to London?”   
     “Well we'd take Cas.” Dean shrugged.   
     “Hell no. We are not using your angel as a damn taxi service, Dean!”   
     “Sherlock thinks there's a case there. It's worth going to check it out.” Dean looked at his brother with the look that only older brothers could muster.   
     “Then get an English hunter! I think Violet and Tatiana are in London at the minute, give them a call!” Sam shouted, slowly losing the battle.   
     “Violet and Tatiana can't do what we do, Sammy.”   
     “No, they do it better.” Sam pulled out bitchface #841.   
     “Aw, come on Sam. When's the last time we went on vacation, huh?”   
     “We don't _do_ vacations.”   
     “And that right there is exactly the problem!” Sam glared at Dean with a new bitchface, one Dean hadn't seen before. Dean mentally added it to the list. After a few moments, Sam sighed.   
     “I'm going to bed.” Sam pulled himself up of the hard motel couch.   
     “Sleep on it!” Dean called after him, as his brother escaped into the bedroom. He picked up his discarded cell phone and typed another text.   
**_Think I can crack Sammy by tomorrow. We'll be there.  
D.W._**   
It wasn't long before his cell pinged with a new text.   
**_Not a word to John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade or anyone else. I'll meet you at Barts, text me when you land.  
S.H._**   
Dean shook his head.   
**_Why can't we tell John? Lover's tiff?_**   
Dean smirked at his own joke.   
**_Why aren't you with Castiel? Lover's tiff?  
S.H._**   
Came the reply. Dean had to laugh.   
****_He'll be there. So will we._   
After a few minutes had past, Dean decided to go to bed as well. He slipped into the empty double bed, being sure not to disturb the already sleeping Sam in the other.   
     “Damn it, Sherlock. What the hell have you gotten into?” He whispered into the darkness.

 


End file.
